


Stay Awake

by kallistob



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babysitter Newt, Class Differences, Crush at First Sight, F/M, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Flirting, Fluff, Kid Fic, Kinda, Lawyer Graves, M/M, Rating May Change, Student Newt, Supernatural Elements, Tags may be added, kid credence, single Parent Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: He needed a job, and babysitting wasn't a half bad gig. Credence was a good kid, and his father wasn't all that bad either (if not somewhat intimidating).But perhaps there's a little more going on than meets the eye - both with the posh and polite Mr Graves, and his son.-ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.





	1. The Ad

**Author's Note:**

> hey, enjoy :) 
> 
> updates will be whenever, but i've got a massive chunk of the story written already, it just needs lots of editing. Thank you to Qed_Scribblings for betaing this chapter, she did an incredible job at it !!!!!! <3

Newt is browsing _studentjobs.com_ when he sees it.

He’s short on money. His old boss saw fit to fire him, citing a misunderstanding when it was pretty fucking clear he just was disgusted by Newt browsing Grindr during work hours. Not really his fault that he was bored as fuck just _standing_ there - there was no one in the little coffee shop so early in the morning. Much less on a Monday. Newt was ready to do his job should someone come through the door! But no one did. And so, after a while, Newt made the bad decision to sit down and take his phone out - which is the exact moment his boss chose to creep up behind him. Turns out, Mr Devere did not appreciate the sexy abs of BeachBodyBoi95 nearly as much as Newt had been at the time.

Alright, so he fucked up. Badly. _But -_ in his defense he’d slept a grand total of seven hours in two days that weekend, his brain wasn’t working quite right. So he got fired, righteously so. It wasn't his first mistake, and trying to get laid during work hours was the straw that broke the camel's back for his boss. Ex-boss.

Now he was back to square one: browsing ads to try and pay his share of the rent, just like his roommate, Jacob, did his.

He could do this.

It was just a long, fucking tedious process. He didn't exactly have time to job hunt either but he had no choice. The neverending pile of assignments his teachers took sadistic pleasure in handing out every week would have to wait.

After a full morning of scouring the net, he found it. The ad in question is inconspicuous. There's not even a picture attached; it’s the introduction that catches Newt’s eye. It is abrupt, almost violent, and sounds just a little bit desperate for attention as well. Newt squints at the screen as he clicks the link, and reads the lines while sipping his too-hot cup of tea.

**_URGENT - SEEKING MALE BABY-SITTER._ **

**_If you clicked this, congratulations, I assume you are a man. If you are not, do not bother reading further and kindly back off and find another job._ **

**_I am looking for a male baby-sitter to take care of my son part-time while I am at work. You will be responsible for both him and the house while I am occupied. You will be rewarded generously should you behave; however - if I find anything has been stolen, if I find so much as a scratch on my boy’s body - I’ll have you in Riker’s by dinner time._ **

**_I hope I have made myself clear._ **

**_You may contact me at the following number for further information. I do not reply to emails._ **

**_Good luck,_ **

**_P.G._ **

Newt grins. Fuck if that isn’t the most interesting ad he’s ever had the pleasure of reading. The promised pay is fucking generous, too, and Newt's done some babysitting before.

He dials the number. It goes to voicemail. The automated reply instructs him to leave a message to one _Percival Graves, Esquire._ Newt does, heartfelt and polite, telling ‘Percival Graves’ that he found the add on _studentjobs_ , and that would be more than willing to meet him for a first interview.

-

He’s elbows deep in dish water, scrubbing vigorously away at the plates they'd used for dinner that night when his phone rings.

“Shit.”

Wiping his hands on his apron Newt picks it up, trapping the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he rinses the dish.

“Yeah?”

_“Mr. Scamander?”_

The voice is deep, masculine and confident. Newt feels a stab of anxiety in his gut that he does his best to ignore. He sets the plate aside to dry and wipes his hands once more before holding the phone properly. “Yes. Can I help you?”

_“I got your message. Would you be available tonight for a meeting? My house. I’ll text you the address.”_

Newt hesitates a split-second. He hasn’t got anything planned tonight. And if he did, he would cancel in the face of potential new income. Plus it’s not like his interlocutor intends for him to stay a long time. It’s just a quick, formal meeting to gauge who Newt is, discuss his availabilities and all that.

“Yes, I can be there. Where do you live?”

_“Just down Savile Street.”_

Newt barely refrains from letting out a whistle at that, because - _damn._ That street is situated in one of the nicest areas of New York _._ A posh guy, then. The kind who could probably have any nanny he wants. So why resort to posting ads on students’ websites?

Newt frowns.

Maybe the ‘male baby-sitter’ requirement makes it a bit harder to find the right person?

“Works for me, Mr. Graves. Ain't too far from where I live.”

_“Perfect. Oh, Please call me Percival. I’ll be home at eight sharp, if that isn’t too late for you? You can be there at 8.15. I'm picking Credence up from school today. After that - and if all goes well - that’ll be your job.”_

“Of course,” Newt says quietly. The man on the other end of the phone sounds warm enough, but Newt senses an underlying current of tension in his words, the same that had been so overt in his ad. Mr. Graves is stressed as fuck, seemingly more so than any other parent Newt’s had to deal with. He wonders how many baby-sitters he already interviewed or hired, and he idly wonders why they couldn't stay.

“Credence, is it? How old is he?”

 _“Five,”_ Graves says proudly. _“Look, I have to get back to work, but I expect to see you tonight, yes? Hang on…”_ Newt hears typing _. “There we go! I just sent though the address. Are we good?”_

“Yes, Mr. - Percival.”

_“Good. Then I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Scamander. Don’t be late.”_

“Nah,” Newt replies, but Graves has already hung up. “Well then.”

He opens the text the man just sent him, saves the number in his phone under ‘Percy Graves’, and opens YouTube. He finishes washing the dishes while whistling to the tune of an old country music.

All in all, things are looking up.

-

That evening, Newt quickly checks the time it will take for him to go to Mr. Graves’ house on foot - twenty minutes tops. He finishes his sandwich in three bites before grabbing his backpack and the house keys. A quick look at himself in the mirror by the door: his hair is artfully tousled (at least he likes to think it's artful), he’s got clean shoes, jeans that fit him well, and a green shirt. He’s dressed as well as can be for an interview like this. He pushes back the mounting anxiety that tells him that this _Mr. Graves_ living on _Savile Street_ will take one look at his cheap ass and throw him right back on the streets. Unlikely, ‘cause Newt doubts that ad got many answers in the first place, and the man did say it was urgent, but. Still.

The wind is biting cold outside. Newt hunches in on himself and walks on, until the streets become less and less familiar and he starts to feel more and more like a cockroach on a pristine kitchen floor. There's not many people out, but those that are clearly belong to a different class than him. The scarf of one woman he passes looks like it costs twice his rent.

He pursues his lips and hurries on, his GPS’ voice grating in his ears that he’s five minutes away from his destination. He takes a left, passes by a bakery that smells heavenly, and then he’s standing at the end of Saville street. Number five is just a few meters away.

Newt doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. He hoped for a house, but even rich people have flat complexes, he supposed. This ‘flat’ wasn’t anything like the one he shared with Jacob though. Here, the floor is shined so clean Newt is afraid to walk on it. Instead of a housekeeper, there seems to be an actual secretary behind a front desk, who was eyeing him warily, like he's just entered a five star hotel.

Newt coughs and straightens up best he can, walks up to her and asks on which floor Mr. Graves lives.

“Sixth,” she says in a light voice. “Oh, the elevator’s broken. Stairs are the door just to the left of it. Who should I announce?”

 _Blimey_. It's like he's meeting the fucking president or some shit.

“Announce? Hmm - err… Newt. Newt Scamander,” he stammers, and the lady nods before gesturing to the stairs.

Newt takes them two at a time, eager to get this over with. He’s a minute late now because he was too busy gawking at everything and that just won’t do. He reaches the right floor - breathless and with a stitch in his side - but he ignores those aches in favor of finding out where that toff, Mr. Graves, lives. A vast corridor expands in front of him, with two rows of doors on either side. Even their doormats look fancy, miles away from the rugged ‘Welcome home’ thing he and Jacob got.

Newt stops walking in the middle of the corridor, utterly lost. There are no names on those doors, what is he supposed to do? Ring each one?

He opens his bag and rummages in it to find his bloody phone, when the door right in front of him opens, and out comes a live wet dream.

Newt does a double - no, a _triple_ take, ogling the other guy from head to toe. He’s aware that his mouth is hanging open, but fuck that - he hadn’t expected his employer to look like he came right out of a QG magazine! Shining shoes, tailored pants for how well they fit him, and his shirt, oh god. It hugs his chest in all the right places. The man is well _fit,_ Newt could moan. To make things worse, the guy's collar is open, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off some muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. Newt’s eyes are drawn back to his neck. Fuck, he wants to lick it.

Bloody hell - he’s in trouble.

No, he isn't here to get it on, right? So even if this new guy looks hot as all hell, he’s not going to just stand there and stare (or propose to blow him) so soon in their relationship. So he comes closer instead, holding out a hand to introduce himself.

“Newt Scamander. You the man who placed that ad for the baby-sitter?”

The man smiles, and Newt’s heartbeat just skyrockets.

“Percival Graves. Yes, I am. Please come in.”

Percival steps to the side, allowing Newt to move past and enter the flat. He catches a whiff of the other man's cologne as he walks by - something spicy, heady, _perfect_.

“Allow me,” Graves says.

Newt positively shivers when he feels big hands on his shoulders, as Graves helps him shrug off his coat.

Great. So it turns out Mr. Graves is a hottie _and_ a gentleman to boot. “Credence is in the living-room.”

Newt nods and walks forward, Graves following closely behind him.

The house, for all that that Graves fella is wealthy, is surprisingly homey. Instead of the impersonal white walls and grey furniture Newt expected to find, he is greeted by dark wood as well as rich blue and red colors for the pillows on the sofa and paintings hanging on the walls.

Credence Graves is kneeling by the low glass table in the living-room, drawing something on a piece of paper, with his back turned to Newt.

“Credence?” Graves calls gently. “Come here, son, say hello to Mr. Scamander.”

“Oh, you can call me Newt,” Newt says as Credence stops drawing and turns his head to look at them. “Hello.”

“‘llo,” Credence says, very softly. The kid stands up, but keeps his head ducked down, looking at the carpet like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Newt is puzzled. Credence looks... quite small for his age.

“Take a seat, Newt. Make yourself at home. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” It is quite late, and he’s sure Mr. Graves has other plans than entertain him for longer than strictly necessary. He takes the other invitation though, and slumps down on the sofa without grace, before dropping his backpack to the side.

Graves has disappeared to presumably the kitchen, which leaves Newt and Credence alone. The kid is pale, his hair long and curling around his face like a girl’s. Newt sees a dark mass of sorts on the blank paper he used to draw on, and figures there's no harm in asking Credence about it.

“Wha’ are you drawin’?” He says.

Credence’s cheeks flush pink.

“Clouds,” he replies hesitantly.

“Clouds? Wha’ kind of clouds?”

“There are different kinds of clouds?”

“‘Course there are. If you give me one of your pens I can show you.”

Credence considers him, but before he can make up his mind his dad comes back. Mr. Graves has switched shoes for slippers, and he holding a tumbler in one hand.

“Whiskey,” Graves tells him, raising his glass. The young man scoots over and Graves thanks him with a smile. He tosses his drink back in one go and grimaces at the taste while Newt watches him. Credence seems unconcerned by his dad's drinking. He kneels back down and picks up another pencil, a purple one this time, and adds streaks of color here and there in the clouds.

Mr. Graves sets his empty glass on the low table, and angles his body towards Newt, legs crossed and eyes intent. He tilts his head, his smile is suddenly sharper, and Newt feels like a butterfly pinned to a board. His mouth goes dry.

“Mr. Scamander -”

“Dad,” Credence says reproachfully. “You’re scaring him.”

Percival frowns, and the tension in his shoulders loosens. “Am I?”

“Well, hmm.” Newt pales. “You’re - intimidatin’? But I ain't scared, Credence.”

“My apologies,” Graves says with amusement. “So. Newt. I took the liberty to look your name up just to know what I was getting myself into. You’re a student, is that right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Majoring in what?”

“Biology.”

“I see. Do you think you have enough free time to be able to take care of Credence here?”

“Well that depends,” Newt says dryly. “When would you need me over?”

“Ideally, not until next week. However if something comes up between now and then I may get in contact sooner. We’ll see if we can work together and make this a regular thing. You’ll very likely have to pick Credence up at school, bring him home - safe and sound - play with him until I come back. He eats dinner at seven, takes his bath after that, and I’m usually home at eight. Would that be okay?”

“I can make it work,” Newt says thoughtfully. “Maybe not five days a week, but yeah.”

“That is fine, I knew what I was getting myself into when posting on that website. On days where you can’t, Credence will stay at school until I come get him, no later than six, but I can rearrange my schedule as well. However on the days where you say you can be here, I need you to stick to that. If you can’t be there because of an emergency, I need you to alert me to that immediately, so I can make other arrangements for Credence. I’ve had enough of unreliable babysitters. We do not need or desire to be dropped in that state of panic again - I trust you understand.”

“Of course I will warn you,” Newt replies, almost offended on Percival’s behalf that he had to deal with that kind of irresponsible people. Impulsively, he adds - “‘Sides, the pay’s too good for me to screw up.”

“Hmm.” There’s a lilt to the corner of Graves’ mouth. “I hope I am not ill-advised in giving you my trust, Mr. Scamander. But as I'm sure you know I work in a law firm, as an attorney. Have no doubt,” Graves says gravelly, “that should harm come to Credence because of you being an irresponsible _prick_ , I will not let it slide. I will build a case against you, I will win it, and it _will_ ruin you. Trust me on that.”

“Do threats usually work in makin’ people want to work for you?”

Percival stares at him. And bursts into laughter.

It makes his eyes wrinkle handsomely at the corners, his cheeks glow, and he looks much younger. Credence seems startled by the sound of it since the scratch of pen over paper goes still.

“No,” Percival admits, still chuckling. “Not really, no.”

“It’s great that I’m made of tougher shit than them, then.” Newt’s eyes widen. “Oh, bollocks. Sorry.”

Graves waves his hand dismissively. “It’s okay. Credence heard worse from me, much to my chagrin. I will however expect you to do your best not to curse like a sailor around him, please. I don’t want his school to get on my back because Credence's acquired a colorful language. Alright. Payment?”

This is the weirdest job interview Newt’s ever been on. “My usual rate is ten dollars per hour,” he says carefully. “You proposed fifteen.”

“Make it thirty,” Graves says, and Newt gaped at him. “Before you leave, do you have the number of a parent whose child you kept before?”

“Y- yes...” Newt reaches for his bag, takes out his phone, goes to ‘Mary’s mom’ in the contacts and gives the device over to Graves like a robot. The older man grabs a blank piece of paper on the low table and a stray colored pencil and writes down the number. “I - I cared for her four year old daughter and her baby sister for a couple months. I had to step down ‘cause of uni.” He's still fucking stuck on the _thirty bucks._

Seriously, he gathered Graves was rich, but this is ridiculous. He's not going to complain, ‘course not, but its suspicious - like Graves’ paying him for more than just his services.

Or maybe he's just paranoid.

“What did you do after that?” Graves enquiries as he gives Newt back his phone.

“Waiter at a coffee shop,” Newt says shortly, not wanting to expand on that one.

“I see. You live alone?”

Newt meets his eyes. “I got a roommate.”

Graves nods, and just like that it's over. Newt says goodbye to Credence, and the kid waves back at him, still shy, but minding his manners. Percival accompanies him to the door, at which point Newt shakes his hand and tries not to think about how good it feels to touch him.

“I’ll text you within the week, Newt,” Graves says, still holding onto Newt hand. Something in his eyes has changed, but Newt is not confident enough to go so far as to consider it a flicker of interest. Graves will probably never call him back.

“Yeah, cheers,” Newt says dimly. “Thank you for receivin’ me.”

Graves smiles at him again, softly. “Have a good night.”

“You - you too.”

Graves slams the door in his face, and Newt winces.

As always after any job interview, Newt knows he will keep overthinking everything that was just said and done and conclude he's failed. He’s pretty sure this time he actually got it all wrong, but hey - at least he made the man laugh.

He decides not to worry too much. Worrying means you suffer twice, after all.

-


	2. First Day On The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Credence?” He whispers. “Wake up, kiddo. You gonna be late for school.”
> 
> Credence stirs somewhat and scrunches up his little button nose in annoyance.
> 
> “Come on kiddo, wake up. Your dad’s gotta leave early today. You gotta kiss him goodbye for good luck before he leaves, yeah?”
> 
> “‘S not my dad,” Credence grumbles, squinting his eyes open before resolutely turning on his side and curling into a stubborn little ball of a human being. “Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, comments and subscriptions ! And thank you for Qed_Scribblings for betaing this chapter as well, she's an angel. 
> 
> Let's keep hearing this story, shall we?

_Good morning Newt,_

_Would you be available tomorrow from 7 to 8 am to take Credence to school? I need to leave early for work._

_-PG._

Of course the sod signs his texts with his bloody initials. Newt seriously wouldn’t put it above a man like Percival Graves to own handkerchiefs embroidered with his own personal logo or something.

But that’s neither here nor there. He's knackered. Their physics teacher pulled a surprise, two hours quizz, right out of his arse first thing in the morning. The rest of Newt’s day hadn’t been much better. But he hasn’t got class in the morning. Then again… that means he could sleep in for once.

Money was important though.

But bed…He could even make pancakes in the morning. Food was nice too... And he needed money for it.

Damnit.

So he bravely texts back.

_ill be there_

An hour of work means thirty bucks in his pocket. If he does this every morning during the week he'll be richer than the Queen soon.

_Thank you, Newt. Have a good day :)_

_-PG._

“You’re blushin’.”

“Nah,” Newt replies as he pockets his phone. The smiley face Graves used just reminded him of the man's real smile, and how handsome he had looked when he laughed. That's all. He ain’t _blushing_.

Jacob scoffs at him.

“Yeah you are, mate.” His roommate and best friend is busy watching some cooking show on his laptop. He turns the volume down to better tease Newt, a goofy grin on his round face. “Why don’t you tell a pal, eh ? What’s the guy’s name?”

“It's none of y’ fuckin’ business,” Newt says. Jacob waggles his eyebrows, clearly pleased with his response.

“C’mon, spit it out. He the rich one you saw yesterday?”

“... So what if he is.” Like a well-oiled machine, his mind instantly starts bombarding him with images of Graves - his hands, his smile, his fuckin’ tight clothes, the air of danger and sheer authority he exuded…

Jacob’s shit-eating grin widens.

“I don’t got time for this. This work ain’t gonna get done on its own,” Newt says hastily, ignoring Jacob's continued probing questions.  He pushes his reading glasses up his nose disregarding Jake demand for pictures. Instead he attempts desperately to focus on the pile of papers in front of him again, listing the latin names and properties of obscure tropical plants. A subject that would have ordinarily captured Newt’s interest entirely. But instead all he could think about was Graves - it was starting to piss him off.

_He ain’t interested in you, Percival isn't interested in you. For fuck’s sake, please just fucking study!_

But as it turns out, repeating that mantra whenever his concentration wavers isn’t enough to get Graves out of his bloody mind. He gives it up as a lost cause and stumbles to bed with a headache an hour later. Alarm set for 6.30. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

-

6 hours later, it takes Newt a minute or two to recall why exactly his alarm is ringing loudly in his ear ( _Applause_ by Lady Gaga - to set a good tone for the day) and to remember why, in the name of fuck, it was set so early. That’s when he remembers the whole babysitting thing. He groans dejectedly.

 _Money at stake. C'mon. you got this_.

He’s got fifteen minutes to get ready and leave. He’s not quite sure how he manages to brush his teeth and his hair at the same time. That's some sick displays of movement coordination, really. Frankly, it probably ought to be an olympic sport.

He puts on some DIM underwear, slips on his jeans and a black tee, pulls on his green hoodie, grabs his bag. Newt’s out the door just as Jacob stirs on the sofa (poor guy probably fell asleep on it. Newt would concern himself with that situation later, preferably when he wasn’t himself about to trip over his own feet.)

The cold air outside hits him like a punch to the gut. He shudders bodily, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to conserve a shred of body warmth. He knows the way now, thank fuck, so at least his fingers won’t freeze because he's gotta look at his GPS to get to Graves’.

He makes the trip in record time, letting out a huge sigh of relief when he gets to the atrium of Graves’ building. The housekeeper isn’t there today. The elevator seems to be in working order though.

Newt takes it and tries to put himself together a bit using the mirror inside. It's a lost cause. But with a bit of luck Graves would be as disheveled and groggy as him so early in the morning, and wouldn't care.

He’s in luck! When the man opens the door to his flat it is on naked feet, wearing striped blue pajamas. His hair sticks in all directions. _Bingo_.

He’s also still, much to Newt's despair, bloody gorgeous. Like, straight-out-of-a-perfume-ad-gorgeous. Newt licks his lips.

“Newt,” Graves says, sotto voce. “Please, come in.”  

“Hey. Thanks,” he murmurs back, stepping into the flat and shivering again at the difference in temperature. Bloody hell, Graves’ house is like a furnace.

“Credence is still asleep. Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, ta. Should I go wake him?”

“Please.” Graves gestures vaguely towards the living room. “Otherwise he will be late. He can be a bit difficult in the morning, especially since it's Friday, but I assume you’ve had to deal with that before. Would you like anything to eat?”

“Nah, thanks,” Newt says, not wanting to be a bother. “I’ll grab somethin’ at the bakery.”

“Suit yourself,” Graves says with a shrug. “The door on the left after the living room? That’s Credence’s room. The one on the right is mine.”

“Cool. Anythin’ else I gotta help him with?”

“If you could help him get dressed, that would be fantastic. Only if he asks though. His clothes are by the end of his bed, we picked them out together last night -,” Newt will be damned if that isn’t the most adorable image, “Other than that, make sure he washes his face and hands. You need to leave at, oh, past fifteen? Best make it quick. Make also sure he uses the loo and brushes his teeth before you head off. And the money for this morning will be on the table by the entrance. Don’t forget to take it when you leave. ”

Newt takes the bloody assault of information in stride, nods and hums in all the right places. It's no different than other jobs, he's just gotta be extra careful with this kid, he guesses, because Graves ain't joking around.

Once satisfied he’s covered everything, the man himself makes his way into the kitchen. Newt follows his lead and heads down the hall.

Credence’s bedroom door has a sheet of paper taped on it. The words “Cree’s room” are scrawled next to a bean-like, blue figure that looks vaguely like Mr. Graves himself (Newt can tell because of the thick eyebrows.) He smiles, amused by Credence’s budging artistic talent.

Newt knocks on the door. There is no response, so he decides to go inside quietly.

The shutters are drawn, but not so far as to stop all light from filtering through. Credence’s room fits with what he's seen of the house so far: it is as wide and opulent as the living-room, and the floor happens to be almost entirely covered with stuffed animals. There’s a night-light on the bedside table, changing colors in time with Credence’s breaths.

The kid seems sound asleep. His covers are half-kicked off of him. His pajamas are simple black. Given that he wore the same color yesterday Newt wonders if it’s his favorite.

The bed dips under Newt's weight as he sits on the side, and for a moment he only stares at the kid, unsure how to proceed. He decides to go with the gentle approach.

“Credence?” He whispers. “Wake up, kiddo. You gonna be late for school.”

Credence stirs somewhat and scrunches up his little button nose in annoyance.

“Come on kiddo, wake up. Your dad’s gotta leave early today. You gotta kiss him goodbye for good luck b’fore he leaves, yeah?”

“‘S not my dad,” Credence grumbles, squinting his eyes open before resolutely turning on his side and curling into a stubborn little ball of a human being. “ _Sleep_.”

Newt chuckles. “I know, kiddo. I wanna sleep too, believe me. You like to draw, right? Credence?”

“... Yes… ”

“Well I brought some of my sketchbooks with me today just for you,” Newt says, improvising. “They’re full of clouds too. What do you say? Wanna look at them with me?”

The lack of response means Credence is tempted, and Newt smiles in relief. The reward method generally works he’s found, but it’s a shame he doesn’t actually have anything greater than drawings to offer. For this morning it seems to do the trick though.

Credence rubs at his eyes, already halfway to sitting upright. _Progress!_

“Drawings?”

“I can show you animals too. And, if we got time, I can draw you anythin’ you want!”

“Modesty? Could you draw her?” Credence asks, eyes wide, and Newt is a bit taken aback but he takes it in stride.

“Hmm - sure, if you tell me who she is and what she looks like.”

“She's my -” Credence stifles a yawn behind his hand. “Sowwy - my little sister.”

The kid stares at his pillow longingly.

“Modesty is a pretty name,” Newt says quickly before the kid gets the bad idea to lie down again. Though he feels a bit boggled, to be honest. Who names their kids after _virtues_ like that? And what sister? Mr. Graves never mentioned a sibling.

Divorced, maybe?

He holds out his hand to Credence, giving him the choice to take it or not. Credence considers him for a moment before nodding.

In a sudden flurry of little limbs he is out of bed and standing by the door with a wide, playful grin.

Oh, bloody great. Now they’ve gone from grumpy sleepiness to inappropriate playfulness. It's too early for this shit.

Newt responds appropriately, though. The goal is to steer Credence towards the bathroom, right? He hunches over, curls his hands like claws and says in a deep timber voice, “Let's play a new game: I am the big bad wolf who wants to catch you, and the bathroom is the safe house.” He takes a step forward, and Credence giggles. “Run!”

Credence squeals when Newt lumbers forward and promptly runs off. Newt follows him, closing the bedroom door behind. He makes his way to the bathroom, where Credence…

… isn’t.

Newt hears a giggle in the vicinity of the living-room, and walks back there, feeling sheepish. Mr. Graves’ deep voice echoes Credence’s high-pitched one, coming from the confines of the kitchen. Despite his exhaustion - Newt must have yawned ten times in the past five minutes - he’s gotta admit that being surrounded by such domestic joy and energy feels good. He can’t help but smile at the sight of Mr. Graves grinning like a complete goof as he tickles a squeamish Credence in his arms.

“Dad is the safe house!” Credence pipes up when he sees Newt, and Newt shakes his head good-naturedly. Mr. Graves is wearing an apron, and seems to have gotten dressed for work underneath. The red of his tie suits him.

His smile also suits him.

(Newt really hopes he doesn’t look as enamored as he currently feels.)

Credence, sensing that he’s not the center of attention anymore, tugs on Mr. Graves’ shirt. “Put me down ! I don’t want to play anymore!”

“That’s right,” Graves says, looking away from Newt. “Because you, my boy, need to go get dressed. Chop chop!”

Credence pouts but doesn't protest. Graves puts him down and the kid runs off again.

“And don’t forget to use the loo!” Graves calls after him.

“Yes, daddy!” Credence echoes.

“Hm, do I gotta...” Newt says awkwardly, meaning to follow Credence.

“Oh, no, don't bother yourself,” Graves reassures him. “He’ll be back in under a minute. You can help him get dressed after breakfast if he hasn't done so himself. Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

Newt feels exhausted. “Just tea would be brill, ta.”

“I’m afraid I only have bagged tea.”

“Well I’ll live, long as you actually boil the water. None of that ‘heating it up in the microwave’ malarkey, yeah?  I’ve seen some shit, you Americans couldn't spot decent tea if it danced naked right in front of y’ face.”

“I’m Irish,” Graves retorts cheerfully, “but you’re _absolutely_ right. My colleagues might criticize me for drinking lots of coffee but at least I eat actual food, unlike James.”

“Who’s James?”

“Work colleague. He drinks a bottle of something that proclaims to be a complete meal by itself, and that’s it. I sometimes have to drag him to lunch in order to get something more solid in his stomach.”

Newt smiles at him. “You’re a bit of a mother hen, eh?”

Mr. Graves catches his eye and preens a little, which makes Newt grin wide and easy in turn.

“I blame Credence,” he says warmly, finally setting a steaming cup of tea on the table before Newt, then an entire pot of coffee and an empty mug. The man sits down and proceeds to serve himself coffee, while Newt wraps his hands around his cuppa and tries not to smile so much. He’d been scarcely afraid for a moment that Graves would take offense at being called a mother hen, but no. Newt’s surprised at how easy it is to talk to him.

He lets his eyes trail down Graves’ body. God, he's even more gorgeous up close. And well kept, too. Nails clean and trimmed, closely shaven, hair coiffed…

The warmth of his drink makes his toes curl in his shoes. With every swallow Newt feels just a bit more awake, and a bit more curious.

“You don't have an Irish accent,” he says to break the comfortable silence.

Graves hums as he lathers some jam over croissants. Newt’s stomach growls loudly, and the man smirks before sliding the pastry over to him. Newt takes it without protests - fuck the bakery. “Lost it. I've lived in the US since my twenties.”

“You ever miss Ireland?”

“Sometimes,” Graves says. “Me and Credence actually plan on visiting it in summer this year, see the family a little.”

“Oh, that's great!” Newt says honestly, and Graves nods his assent.

“I do fear it’s going to be slightly awkward, so we won't stay long.”

“Why?”

“I haven't seen them in years. But I thought it would be a good thing for Credence to meet his grandparents.” Graves smiles briefly. “He's a good kid.”

Newt hums around his mouthful of croissant. Once he’s swallowed, Newt asks, “Credence says he's got a sister?”

“Indeed he does.” Graves serves himself to his second coffee as he speaks, and Newt really hopes he doesn’t intend to go through _all_ that coffee by himself. No way that’s fucking healthy. “Modesty. We’re actually visiting her this Saturday, provided her mother manages to clear her schedule.”

“Visit her?”

“She’s in a foster family. It’s a long story, one I’m afraid I don’t... have the time to tell right now…” Graves glances at the clock. “Shit. I'm late. I've always found it odd, how fast time flies when one is in good company.” Graves _winks_ at him, and Newt swallows his tea the wrong way and burns his tongue in the process.

Credence makes his reappearance while Newt's trying to recover from his coughing fit. Graves stands at his back, awkwardly tapping him between his shoulder blades until Newt says, voice hoarse and eyes watery, “‘M fine.”

Through his tears he focuses on Credence - the kid’s put on slippers and a fluffy green sweater. However, it's clear he still wears his pajamas underneath. He’s back to the shy, quiet act, ducking his head when he sees Newt and shuffling his feet to get closer to his dad. Graves’ gaze is unbelievably fond when he looks down at the kid. He squats down to kiss the unruly hair on top of Credence’s head, making the kid squawk indignantly.

“Come on,” Percival says gently. “Eat your cereals, boyo. Are you alright, Newt?”

Newt holds up both his thumbs, and is rewarded by another blinding smile from Graves that makes his heart skip a beat.

Bloody hell - at this rate he’ll never survive the job.

-

Breakfast is a quiet affair after that. At some point Credence insists on tasting Newt’s tea, which Newt gives him a teaspoon of, and does the same for Percival’s now cold coffee. His utterly disgusted expression at the bitterness of it earns him another laugh from Graves, who’s come back to observe them while he’s busy putting on some gloves.

Newt deliberately does not look at him (leather gloves, _jesus)_ and tells Credence he should try dipping a cube of sugar into the coffee next time to make it better.

Oxfords on, coat billowing behind him and scarf knotted around his neck, Graves reappears one last time to throw his discarded apron on the chair to Newt’s right.

“There’s a house cleaner coming over today so don’t bother tidying up anything - she’ll do it,” Graves informs him as he grabs a set of car keys in an ashtray on the counter.

He gives Credence’s head another kiss (“Have a good day, my boy”), squeezes Newt’s shoulder (“Send me a picture of him at school so I know he’s arrived safely,”) and leaves.

Newt can still feel the ghost of his touch even when he helps Credence get dressed, fussing over him so much Credence snaps that he can do it by himself, thank you. So Newt takes to shuffling through the kid’s drawers instead, trying not to marvel at the sheer _quality_ of the fabrics Credence wears. Or the brands _._ He’s pretty sure the kid’s whole wardrobe is worth more than his rent. And for what? A pair of faded jeans, a white shirt and the same green sweater he wore at breakfast. Newt kinda wants to cry. He can’t get jealous of a kid though. Mr. Graves probably worked very hard to get to the level of life he’s at. Or he inherited. Possibly both.

Still, with the money Newt earns doing this he’ll probably be able to treat himself to a couple nice, new things too. He’s been wanting to go shopping for months.

Credence brushes his teeth dutifully while Newt offers to comb his hair. One thing has to be said, the kid is wonderfully obedient. Normally brushing teeth is a trial, or at least it had been in the family Newt looked after before he worked at the coffee shop.

The locks are long and silky beneath his fingers. He asks Credence if he wants to style it. The kid hesitates before nodding vigorously. Newt doesn’t exactly have a talent for hair, but he gathers it all into a loose bun and assures Credence he looks bloody fantastic. Girls at his school will swoon at his feet.  

“No they won’t!” Credence splutters indignantly, and Newt laughs.

Shoes? On. Coat? Buttoned up. Bag? Strapped on and ready to go.

True to Mr. Graves’ words, Newt finds in the flat entrance thirty bucks, which he pockets, as well as complicated set of keys to lock the appartement.

The school is a five minutes walk from the building, thank fuck. Newt uses that time to question Credence a bit more about his hobbies, trying to get to know the kid better.

But the closer they get to the school, the more withdrawn and quiet Credence gets. There are more parents around them now, and more kids (some are crying, or whining, or pouting that they _don’t want to go to school, father!_ )

Newt doesn’t know shit about cars, but he stares open-mouthed at the one that just parked in front of the school. Out comes a tall man with an umbrella in one hand and sunglasses, and just after him, a blond kid wearing a _suit._

In the middle of this madness, Newt doesn’t think to ask Credence what’s wrong when the kid all but retreats into his shell.

Most parents eye Newt with quiet distaste as he accompanies Credence past the gates and to the school’s door. His skin crawls with the weight of a hundred stares, and he finds he’s suddenly very eager to let Credence go. Perhaps this is all his imagination, but the point is he’s tired and uncomfortable now, the warm glow of their morning together with Mr. Graves fading. He wants to go home.

“Well, here we are,” Newt murmurs. He crouches in front of Credence and adjusts the kid’s scarf around his neck. “Have a good day, love.”

Credence nods.

Newt watches him go, snapping a picture of the kid’s retreating back, which he promptly sends to Mr. Graves with the words ‘there he goes!’.

Then he promptly turns on his heels, unwilling to linger anymore on the grounds of a school which looks like something out a freaking 18th century painting. He sure as hell doesn’t belong here.

There’s a man at the entrance, overseeing the arrival of the last latecomers with an indulging smile. He greets parents with a polite nod as they come and go. Yet his eyes are like two chips of ice, empty of feelings when Newt meets them.

So he wastes no time in hurrying away, skin crawling with the distinct and disagreeable sensation that he's being watched - even after he's rounded the corner and the school is well out of sight.

-

Later, when he’s alone and comfy back inside his flat, wrapped in a blanket to keep the chill at bay, Newt reflects on the morning. Minus his immense discomfort at the school and the creepy teacher, it went well. Credence is adorable, and an easy enough kid to watch over. His dad is not only hot as hell, but also nice, willing to humor him and apparently…interested in Newt? Or is he just getting in way over his head?

He did wink at him. And call Newt good company. That’s flirting, right?

“No it’s not. That man’s just havin’ a bloody laugh is all, cause I ain’t exactly been subtle. Right Pickett?”

From inside his glass cage, his stick insect doesn’t offer Newt any answer.


	3. The Barebone Case

“I’ve gone mental,” Jacob groans, his forehead hitting the table with a loud  _ thump.  _

“I’m sure y’ right,” Newt replies absently, highlighting some words from his textbook all the while. “But why?” 

“Cos I just asked  _ Queenie Goldstein _ out. By text! I’m such a loser,” Jacob says mournfully. He jumps out of his skin when his phone buzzes. “Oh jeez, that’s her. Oh fuck. Oh, shit. Newt, what do I do?” 

Newt, ever helpful, replies, “I’m studyin’, Jake.” 

“Well I’m havin’ a bloody situation here, pal? The least ye could do is offer some support! Some friend you are.” 

Newt rolls his eyes. “Just read the damn text, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Yer right,” Jacob says, taking a deep breath. His fingers twitch as he moves his hand minutely towards the device. “But Newt, I am like, 200% sure she just rejected me, the big ol’,” Jacob makes his voice high pitched enough to make Newt cringe, “ _ Aaaw, I’m flattered but I’m just not interested  _ thing. You get me?” 

“Just read it!” 

“Yeah, yeah, gettin’ there, jeez!” Jacob picks up the phone, unlocks it and squeezes his eyes shut before finally daring to look at the little Messenger notifications popping up on his screen. “It’s from Queenie.” 

“No shit!” Newt uncrosses his legs and sets his book down, leaning forward until he’s half sprawled over the table to look at the phone. “So? What’s it say?” 

Jacob’s face is carefully blank. “I don't think I can do this. What if she said no?”

“What if she said yes, mate?” Newt retorts, tilting his head. “You and I know that girl’s as gone for y’ as you are for her. Now give me that thing.” He grabs the phone before Jacob can protest and opens the conversation. 

“She says, and I'm not shittin’ you,  _ sure! i’m free on Tuesday, smiley face _ , and the next one says…”

“Oh god, there’s two?!” 

“... The next one is where she asks if this is actually a date or if she’s gettin’ her hopes up. Congrats, mate.”

Jacob stares at him. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“No-ooope! Now go get your girl, bruv.” 

“Holy shit,” Jacob breathes, utterly stunned. Slowly, a grin spreads over his face as reality starts kicking in. “Holy  _ shit! I _ have a date!” 

“Yep.” 

“When’d that happen?! I have a date with the most beautiful girl in a world!” 

Jacob’s sheer happiness is contagious and Newt finds himself laughing alongside him. They high five like they've just won the fucking lotto and Jacob sends a string of heart eyes emojis to Queenie before Newt snatches the phone away from him again. 

Then Newt eyes him critically, and says in a sugary voice, “Jake, honey?”

Jacob stills in the middle of his little victory dance. 

“You’re gonna need a new outfit. We’re goin’ shopping.” 

Jacob’s heartfelt groan can no doubt be heard from across from across the city - but for once, he doesn’t protest too much when Newt leads him through the racks of clothes. 

Seeing Jacob so hopeful makes him feel good. They pull together an outfit destined to make his woman swoon, and when all is said and all is done they walk away from the expedition in high spirits. Newt almost feels like he can actually do well on the exam he’d only been half-arsed studying for, even before Jacob’s situation distracted him from it. 

Naturally, it was only a matter of time before he thought of Graves again. 

He wonders if the man had ever been in love. No doubt, seeing as he’s in his forties. Plus he's quite the catch for anyone who’s got two functioning eyes and he has a kid. 

Rich, handsome, unmarried - to Newt’s knowledge. With a kid, a point that continues to reveal the soft, sweet nature hiding beneath the hardened exterior. 

_ You ain’t fooling anyone, Newton.  _

He is interested in the older man, rather painfully so. But he isn’t stupid. Men like Graves may be down to fuck young lads like him, but they never  _ date  _ them. 

Newt works for him anyway - it just can't happen. 

That doesn't mean he can't fantasize about it though. A guy can dream, yeah? 

“Fuck me,” Newt sighs, to which Jacob replies nonplussed with a polite, 

“Sorry babe, I’m taken.” 

“Yes, yes! We get it, Jacob!” 

“Committed to the most beautiful and kindest woman in the world,” Jacob says smugly with a shit-eating grin on his face.

-

The next Monday at breakfast, Newt learns that Credence’s former teacher has left on maternity leave. Her replacement, apparently, is a bit odd. 

Turns out, the guy is the same creepy man he saw when he first took Credence to school. Even his name’s a mouthful.  _ Gellert Grindelwald. _ Credence struggles with pronouncing it, and ends up spelling it out for them. 

“An’ I don’t like his eyes,” Credence says, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. 

Graves gives him a slice of the apple he was peeling, and offers another to Newt. “Fanks,” the kid mumbles as he takes a bite. He swallows and continues, “His eyes are weird, they’re different colors! Ma would say that he’s the devil.” 

Credence abruptly shuts his mouth as though he’s just said a bad word. 

He risks a glance at his dad, wide eyed. 

Mr. Graves’ face has completely shut down at the mention of ‘Ma’, whoever that is. Even Newt feels queasy under the blank stare Mr. Graves gives his son. 

“Eat your cereals, Cree,” Newt murmurs.  

His voice breaks the tension. Slowly, Mr. Graves starts in on his breakfast again, while Credence nibbles on his apple. 

“Perhaps you should talk to the school about this,” Newt suggests while Credence shoves a mouthful of cereals into his mouth. He chokes on it, spilling a bit of milk down his chin. Percival watches the display with distant eyes while Newt fusses over the kid and wipes his mouth with a napkin. 

“I suppose I should,” Mr. Graves hums. He then tells Credence gently, but firmly, that they’ll have to work on proper table manners again. Credence shrinks back on himself. 

“Yes, dad.” 

-

“You’re right,” Percival tells him calmly the next day just as they’re about to go. 

“Hmm?” Newt checks his phone anxiously - they’re running late for school. Should have left about five minutes ago.

“I will call the school about that teacher. The last thing I want is for Credence to be uncomfortable. Right boyo?” Graves smiles as he helps the kid button his coat. Newt has passed the threshold of their house, and looks at the little family, his heart swelling with a burst of affection. “If anything bad happens, I want you to tell me immediately. Okay, baby?” 

Credence nods, before wrapping his little arms around his dad’s neck. He burrows his face against Graves’ shoulder in response, hugging him tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Graves murmurs, so softly Newt almost misses it. “You know I don’t like being reminded of her, my boy.” 

Credence nods imperceptibly. Graves kisses the top of his hair one last time before pulling away. “C’mon. Be good at school, will you?”

“Yes, dad.” 

“Have a good day, Mr. Graves.”

“You too, Newt.” Mr. Graves ushers Credence out and shuts the door behind them.

-

And so it goes. 

As time passes the Graves family becomes a bit less of a mystery to him. 

He knows the surface, at least. 

Mr. Graves works as an attorney at the famous MACUSA law firm. The name vaguely rings a bell for Newt. He thinks he might have caught it in a newspaper. Maybe. He isn’t sure. He tells Graves so. 

“Ah, yes. One of our cases got a fair bit of publicity last year. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you hadn’t heard of us.” 

Mr. Graves is more relaxed in his presence now that Newt’s proved himself as a reliable caretaker. He seems to have given up the Big Scary Dad act, and has become much easier to talk to. “A nasty one at that. We get a lot of those, because we’re good at our jobs. People expect us to defend the worst scum on earth on a daily basis - and win the trials. Most times we do.”

“That sounds…thrilling,” Newt says. So Graves is a lawyer, huh? Figures, with the posh house and demeanour and all. “Why’d you get into that?” 

“Followed in my father’s footsteps,” Graves replies with a shrug. “It’s quite the boring story, I’m afraid. I’d rather we talked about you, Newton. Credence tells me you like to draw?” 

And so Newt talks. Oh, Graves is good at rerouting the conversation away from him until Newt forgets what he was even asking about in the first place. Not only that, but Graves seems genuinely interested in what he has to say, even when he’s babbling about stuff like the mating habits of baboons. Ordinarily, it was fairly easy to find himself falling for the ploy. 

This morning, however, he will not be deterred. “D’you got any ‘bad cases’ examples?”  

“Oh, I can think of a few. But to be honest with you, since I’m elbows deep in this - excuse my language - utter shit all day, I’d rather not discuss it at home. If you don’t mind.” 

“Oh. Yeah, sure, I understand,” Newt says, contrite. 

But even still, he is curious, damn it. His little crush on Graves hasn’t abated in the slightest, after all. As such he finds himself yearning to learn more about the man, including what he goes through at work. But he wasn’t going to force the information out of the poor bloke. 

-

On Tuesday, Graves calls him to figure out how long Newt’ll be able to care for Credence like this. 

Essentially, all he has to do is take Credence to school every Monday and Friday, and from school every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday as well. 

Graves comes home around nine in the evening. Which means Newt is in charge of handling the routine: bathing Credence, cooking dinner, playing with him, and so on, so that all Graves has to do when he comes home is put him to bed. 

It’s nothing Newt hasn’t done before, and Credence is a fairly easy kid, but it’s still draining. 

He considers dropping out of it for a moment, or asking for lighter hours, but then he tabs all the hours on paper and oggles the resulting paycheck. 

Yeah, alright. He’ll do it. 

Roughly 400 bucks per week. He’ll definitely do it.  

Besides he’s gotten to know Credence and his dad by now. They seem to appreciate him too. And he’s stopped being scared by Mr. Graves’ empty threats. As long as he doesn’t majorly fuck up, he’ll be alright. Plus it’s clear Graves dearly needs someone to take care of Credence while he’s away. 

-

He takes Jacob and Tina out for drinks to celebrate after that decisive phone call. His excitement, however, is quick to wither and die down when he catches the bewildered look Tina throws his way as soon as he mentions Graves’ name. 

“Newt, are you kiddin’ me?” 

“Nah?” Newt says. He raises an eyebrow at Tina, hackles on the rise. He can’t help being defensive of Mr. Graves, even more so when Tina looks so shocked at the mention of him as if he were the Boogeyman. 

He digs his straw into the piled ice on top of his mojito. Hearing her talking is hard, ‘cause the pub’s crowded as hell. The three of them - him, Jacob and Tina - are forced to huddle closer together to speak. 

“You’re working for _Percival Graves?”_ Tina hisses over the sound of bass music. “Newt, d’you even know who that guy is? I’ve studied like... 20 of his cases in the past two years! That man’s a fucking legend at law school. What did you say the kid’s name was?” 

“Credence,” Newt says. “Why?”

Tina exhales sharply. 

_ “Shit.”  _

“What the hell’s going on?” Jacob haphazards, effectively summing up Newt’s feelings right now. “That Graves fella ain’t a kind of - psychopath, right?” 

Tina snorts into her beer. “Pff, no he’s not. Though he’s defended so many of them one might wonder how it affects him.” 

“Alright, cut it out,” Newt interrupts sourly. “What’s the problem? Who is he?” 

“You didn’t even google him? God, Newt.” 

“Yeah well in case y’ haven’t noticed, law firms aren’t really my field of interest, Tina.” 

“He’s no one,” Tina says dismissively. “You know, he just defended the woman responsible for one of the worst cases of child abuse the US has ever seen. No big deal.” 

“What?” 

“The Barebone family. It was all over the newspapers last year.” 

Ah, so that’s what Graves was talking about. Newt furrows his brows. Now that she mentions it, he vaguely remembers reading one thing or two about that, in a crumpled newspaper left abandoned in the metro. 

He also recalls skipping the article two lines in, because he mentally couldn’t handle reading about such things at the time. Keeping informed of the news tends to depress him, and this was no exception. 

_... two children found locked in the altar... _

“Fuck,” he says, feeling vaguely ill. He can’t tell if it’s the drinks or the unexpected news. “That woman got away with it?” 

“Hell no,” Tina grimaces. “She’s rotting behind bars as we speak, no thanks to Graves. But cheers to that.” 

“No thanks to Graves?” He repeats dumbly. “He defended her?” 

“Well he tried to. That’s his job - he’s legally bound to give her the best defence that he could. But stories are even a man as stoic as him couldn’t not be affected. He went green when the prosecution played a video of the two children’s testimonies. Siblings, a little boy and a girl. The woman started screeching to the high heavens that she wanted another lawyer, one that could actually do his job. Graves excused himself and ran away from the room. When he came back he looked like he’d been crying. Doesn’t look good to a jury - the defence lawyer crying over what their client did. Mrs. Barebone got another lawyer eventually.” 

“Wow,” Jacob says. “So hang on, what’d that woman do?” 

Tina grimaces, mouth twisted. “ They were malnourished. Severely dehydrated. They needed to be put on a drip and hospitalised. There was evidence of severe physical abuse, psychological too. The only time they spoke for a long time was to recite bible verses and ask where their 'Ma' was . That woman was a nutjob. Completely crazy.” 

Newt stays silent, staring at his drink and thinking of Graves. If he gets this right… Credence is now living with the man who defended his abuser in the eyes of the law. Did he see Graves argue for her release? Did Graves only adopt Credence out of a misguided sense of guilt? Nothing makes sense. 

“That is  _ so _ fucked up. That’s - how’d you even know all this, Tina?” 

Tina leans in, conspiratorial. “Well you know how I have this older guy - a graduate - helping me out with exams and stuff this year? He was in the room when the trial took place. Says he used to write articles as a part-time job  for his blog. How he found the time to write while in law school, I’ll never know, but anyways. He figured this trial was worth a billion. His father’s got connections in high places and got him a way in. He was part of the public, so he witnessed it all. And he told me everything when I said I was studying the case.” 

“Why the fuck would you study this?” 

“Graves’ speech! The arguments he found to defend that vile woman. You know, he almost swayed the jury to his side in spite of the outrageous evidence. He’s just _ that  _ good. I can’t believe you’re babysitting for him.” 

“You sound like yer in love with him,” Jacob accuses lightly. 

“Oh jesus fuck, no. But you’ve gotta admit that guy’s pretty fascinating.” 

“I guess…” 

“I’m going to the loo,” Newt says abruptly, interrupting Jacob and startling both his friends. “Be right back.” 

He takes a piss, washes his hands, and checks his phone. The screen is a bit blurry in front of his eyes. He finds Graves’ number and hesitates before typing,  _ why the @fuck would u adopt credence barebone ??????  _

They stay late at the _ Black Prince _ bar with Tina and Jacob, the conversation shifting to much lighter topics till they were howling with laughter, downing drink after drink. 

-

He wakes up with a splitting headache, his mouth feeling like it’s developing an entirely new species. 

Now he’s got two missed phone calls, respectively at seven pm and then three am. They’re both from Graves. 

Newt texts him a short apology, hoping Graves won’t pry further. Then he turns his phone on silent and tries to get his shit together for the rest of the day. 

-

The following Monday, he’s five minutes late to Graves’ door ‘cause he got distracted by a cat, meowing incessantly for pets. 

Percival greets him with his tie hanging around his shoulders like a scarf, and the top five buttons of his shirt undone. Newt chokes out a greeting, hands itching to reach forward and  _ touch. _

Graves looks at him funny, and that’s that. Neither of them bring up the text message that morning, nor the next. 

-

Now it’s Friday evening. 

Newt has been bothered by Graves’ lack of reaction all week. He resolves to speak to the man about it that night, if only so they could go back to the easy familiarity they shared before. He needs to stop being a coward and properly apologize. 

“Credence, I’m coming in,” Newt says from behind the door. He knocks twice, giving the kid plenty of time to answer, before pushing the door open.

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly.

Credence looks up at him. “I’m taking a bath?” 

“No you ain’t, Cree - you’ve still got your clothes on! What are you playin’ at? God, I bet your dad will kill me once he sees the state of those…” He stares with alarm at the wet shirt clinging to Credence’s torse, sticky with bubble bath product. “Just take it off, yeah? Isn’t it your favorite shirt?” 

Credence’s cheeks start to pinken, though Newt doesn’t know if that’s from the steam or from rising shame. He knew Newt would be displeased with him getting into the bath with his bloody clothes on. Somehow, Newt highly doubts Credence acts the same around Graves. So what is this? A test? 

“Take it off, Credence.” 

Credence’s lower lip trembles. He trips over his words, but manages to get out a, “M’cold.” 

“You’re sitting in a hot bath,” Newt points out firmly. 

“No.” 

“Credence.” 

“I will but you have to leave the room,” Credence says stubbornly. “I can get clean on my own! I don’t need your help!” 

Is it him or is the kid starting to look panicked? 

Newt raises his hands in a placating gesture, and nods. He picks up the green bottle on the side of the bath and adds more product into the water to make more bubbles. Credence watches him silently all the while. 

Anxiety creeps up Newt’s spine, but he tries to ignore it. He can’t help but feel like he’s being judged by Credence, which he knows is ridiculous. But it makes him feel on edge, and he’s eager to be alone again. 

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Now I know you’re a big boy, and your dad told me you could wash yourself, he just wanted me to check on you once in a while. So I’ll leave you alone to bathe, but I want you to call me when you’re done. Okay?” 

Credence nods once. He is still tense, his eyes never leaving Newt, clearly waiting for him to leave. 

Newt clears his throat. “Right. Take off your shirt and put it on the floor, I’ll take care of it after. I’m outside if y’ need me.” 

Another nod. 

Newt exits the bathroom and closes the door behind him. He leans his back against the wall opposite the door with a sigh, feeling just a bit out of his depth. What the fuck is Credence’s problem?

_ u know i think they might be psychopaths after all,  _ he texts Tina. 

**Who?**

_ the Graves.  _ Newt shifts his weight on his other foot. _ credence. idk man, kid’s pretty intense?  _

**No wonder with a past like that tho**

Tina’s probably right there, and now he feels a bit stupid for needing it to be pointed out. Then he immediately texts Jacob because he doesn’t want to think about it too much. 

He keeps an ear out for any noises coming from the bathroom, but apart from the regular splashes of water he hears nothing that would indicate Credence needs him. Still he asks. 

“Alright in there?” 

“Yes!” Credence replies. “I’m drying now!” 

“Alright then,” Newt mutters to himself, feeling a bit useless. 

_ when’s ur date? _

WEDNESDAY!!!!!!!!! I AM NOT FREAKING OUT

Jacob’s reply makes Newt burst into laughter. He instantly feels better. 

_ u totally are!!!!!! _

HOW DO I POLITELY TELL HER THAT SHE IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME

_ ooh man.  _

Newt grins.

_ yuck. gross.  _

YOU’RE NOT HELPING aaaah i’m so fucking nervous Newt 

WHAT DO I DO !!!!!!!!!!!!! 

_ relax yeah? u got this. she’s awful pretty so that’s intimidating, but i know u can woo her. just go be ur charming disgusting self. bake her cookies or summat, that’s the way to her heart _

:’( 

_ u got this jake !!!!!  _

yeah. yeah. I GOT THIS.

_ yeah !!!!!!!! _

“Credence?” He calls through the door. “Do you want to draw while waiting for your dad to get home? I brought you my sketchbooks like I promised.” 

Credence opens the door, briefly surprising Newt. His hair is wet, his pajama shirt clinging in places where he didn’t quite manage to dry off, but the kid is smiling. He seems proud of himself for having bathed all on his own. 

Newt tuts. “Where’s your towel?” 

Credence points to the floor, where said towel is lying in a heap next to what used to be a shirt. Newt shakes his head at the sight. 

“Alright. Let’s do something about your hair or you’ll catch a cold. Then you’ll help me clean that mess up.” 

Credence nods eagerly. 

-

“Sooooo... how’d it go?” 

Jacob’s staring off into the distance. He’s got an utterly sappy, besotted smile on his face. 

Fucking hell, he’s barely registering Newt’s presence. 

Newt places the grocery bag with a loud bang on the counter, laughing when all the heavy sound does is make Jacob sigh happily and clutch a pillow harder to his chest. “Earth to Jacob ? I think she broke you. I ain’t so sure datin’ her’s a good idea now.” 

“She kissed me,” Jacob says quietly, completely in awe. 

Newt lets out a low whistle. 

“Damn...” 

“Yeah,” Jacob sighs again. 

Newt beams at his friend. “Congratulations, mate. Now when you’ve got two brain cells back together, help me sort this out? Oh, and I bought a new stack of beer.” 

“Hmm.” 

Newt snorts. 

Nevermind. He’ll get nothing more out of him tonight. 

-


End file.
